


The Beast in the Belly

by Cordelia_Sun



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Post-Peacekeeper Wars, Starburst Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Sun/pseuds/Cordelia_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most parents make their kids do chores.</p>
<p>Most kids hate doing them.</p>
<p>D'Argo Sun-Crichton has more reason to than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast in the Belly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for terrafirmascapers.com Starburst Challenge #92

Damn near deafened by the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart D’Argo crouched in the dark passage deep in Moya’s lower tiers. Beside him little lights twinkled in the darkness. He laid his hand on the DRD for reassurance.  
  
“OK, 1812,” he whispered as quietly as he could, “this is it… we go in, do what we have to do and get out as fast as we can… OK?”  
  
1812’s eye stalks waggled in the DRD equivalent of a nod and it began to trundle forward as D’Argo crawled along the floor after him. The bag on his back was heavy and lumpy and the long metal bar he’d slung across his back kept slipping and banging against the floor and walls with ringing clangs that made D’Argo jump every time.  
  
Finally, they reach the junction. He lay on the ground, pressing his slim body flat against Moya’s floor; warm and familiar and safe. 1812 powered on ahead while D’Argo edged forward, inch by inch, making little sound as he pulled himself towards the chamber at the end of the corridor.  
  
The air too was warm, but this wasn’t the usual reassuring ambiance of Moya, but a thick miasma of trapped stale heat with an edge of decay that stuck in the back of the throat. D’Argo closed his nose against the stench and took shallow breaths through his mouth.  
  
1812 came back into view and waggled excitedly.  
  
“You found it?” D’Argo asked, “OK. OK, good.”  
  
The urge to get this over an done with became overwhelming and so D’Argo leapt up into a crouch, but in his haste forgot the metal bar which swung up and whacked him hard against the back of the head. He tried and failed to swallow his scream as he rolled toward the wall and crouched in the shadow of one of the deep corridor ribs. He rubbed his head, pouting at the bar as he clutched it to his chest.  
  
He knew that his cry would have attracted attention and a dry slither confirmed his fears. He pressed himself flatter against the wall and buried his face in his arms.  
  
"Okay," he thought, heart beating frantically "I can do this. Mom thinks I can do it. I am a Sun-Crichton and I am not afraid of anything short of the end of the universe."  
  
He took a deep breath, steeled his nerve and peered around the corner.  
  
The huge, white pulsating body of the beast wasn’t close enough to touch, but that didn’t help D’Argo feel any better. He knew how close he would have to get to do what he needed to do. He crept out, holding the metal bar in front of him like a sword and slunk slowly toward the vast, fatty heap of flesh blocking the passageway ahead.  
  
“Hey.” he called out in a tiny, shaking voice.  
  
The beast ignored him.  
  
“Hey!” he tried again, this time louder and was appalled at the high pitch squeak that came from his mouth. However, this time the call worked and the great greasy mass undulated in huge ripples until the beast turned to face the trembling boy. D’Argo squeezed his eyes shut for a microt, unable to watch. This was so gross.  
  
He opened his eyes slightly and peered through the slits. The pillowy face of the beast loomed above him as it’s lips parted in a wide yawn and bore down on the boy all slobber and grease and the worst breath in the UTs (with the possible exception of Uncle Rygel’s.)  
  
Reflexes overtook over fear and, with a wild cry, he held out the bar, twisted and wedged it between the beasts great jaw.   
  
“Take this!” he yelled and, panting with the effort, swung the bag from his back, heaving it into the beasts mouth and then ran as fast as he could.  
  
He sprinted along the dark corridors, up the sloping passages to the higher tiers until the soft mellow glow of Moya’s lights began to make the world a safer place once more. But even now he was in familiar territory D’Argo still felt the hot press of the beast’s breath on his back and he kept running on until finally he stopped with a smack into air pair of black clad legs.  
  
“Woah, there cowboy!” said the owner of the legs and his was lifted from the floor, “what’s got you running so fast?”  
  
“I did it!” D’Argo panted, “I took out the trash!”  
  
“But the chute down to the recycling is broken?” his Dad frowned.  
  
“I know, so I took the trash!” D’Argo said and, registering the look of displeasure on his father face added, “Mom said I could handle it.”  
  
D’Argo suddenly felt guilty remembering his parent’s argument about how dangerous some of Moya’s symbiotes could be, but it was too late. D’Argo was swung under his Father’s arm and carried bodily towards command.  
  
“Aaaerrrryyyynnn!”


End file.
